


Hope, Dangling by a String

by Wahkeetcha



Category: Carnival Row (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Injury, philo injured, vignette angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:48:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23640112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wahkeetcha/pseuds/Wahkeetcha
Summary: The Row is cut off from the city. There is no hope but the residents try to muddle through in uncertain times.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	Hope, Dangling by a String

**Author's Note:**

> New fandom love. I'm thrilled to play in this world with such broken people. The "Puck butcher" is a nameless person at the moment, so I gave him and his daughter names... if I somehow missed them in the show, please do let me know. I'm hoping to keep writing in this lovely new world.

It was raining again, the dirty cobblestones of the Row stinking as the rainwater pushes a ghastly collection of waste and typical run off from a crowded city into the sewers beneath their feet. Her clothes are soaked through with the rain water, the fabric clinging and hanging in awkward places as she pushes her way through the crowded side streets. Boots squelching Vignette hops a gutter stream, lips curling at the sight of the rats fighting over a piece of garbage. Dahlia had insisted on the hands of her organization making this particular meeting, the mod gathering to learn of and plan for a shipment of medicines and much needed supplies coming into port. On her way back from the meeting Vignette swung by to see Tourmaline and was relieved to find her friend in fairly good condition in the whore house. 

“Moira takes good care of us; you need not worry about me. We’re still working after all.” Tourmaline laughed as Vignette took the offered towel and worked to dry her hair and clothing as much as possible. Their visit was short and with in a half hour Vignette was back out in the rain, this time armed with a pitch covered umbrella her friend insisted on her taking. All around her Fae dash through the rain, their wings pulled close to their bodies as they pass by armed guards and constables alike. The few Faun who run vendor trucks are still shouting their foods, the meager rations and high prices getting few results from the patrons still on the street. She briefly stops and looks at the steamed rice and vegetables, her stomach giving a vicious growl but keeps walking. Philo had managed to get some dry rice and various items the other day and they had to work at saving their money. With a thankful cast upwards Vignette arrives at the rundown tenement house Philo brought her too, the centaur child waving at her from the kitchen way. Vignette gives the blond child a similar wave and heads for the steps leading up to the apartment, the whole structure creaking and wobbling under her slight weight. Aisling Querelle was nearly destitute when she died at the claws of the controlled Dark Asher, but her small apartment was a cozy bolt hole for Philo and her. 

“I’m back Philo.” She calls as she pushes open the ancient door and shuffling through the door, remembering to snap shut the umbrella before shutting the door with her toe. The apartment is softly lit with the candles, signaling to the woman Philo is in as their rule is to never leave the dwelling without extinguishing the candles. She can hear him moving around in the small kitchen area, the smell of tea and blood wafting from the area. Panic clenches her stomach but she shoulders out of her drenched jacket and hangs it on the correct peg. Vignette knows rushing into the kitchen area would only startle the man, one of his odd quirks she’d discovered since their reunion. 

“It’s absolutely miserable out.” She continues, toeing off her boots and wincing at the wet, sucking noise that accompanies their removal. The thin socks are stuck to her toes and the chill in the apartment seems to instantly freeze them. She’s soaked to the bone and absolutely freezing but the silence from the man in the other room has her stomach turning in knots. 

“Philo? Can you answer me?” she calls once more, softer as she enters the doorway to the kitchen, her eyes drawn to the red streaks across the counter tops and the table. The smell of blood is stronger in the room and it’s no surprise as the fluid is still leaking from the half-bloods arm as he works diligently to stitch the wound. Philo glances up quickly, the long thread held between his lips as his long fingers attempt to push the needle through the skin. He’s naked to the waist, the white shirt discarded on the floor amongst his jacket and vest. 

“What happened?” Vignette asks softly, anger rising in her throat as she grabs the nearest candle and brings it closer to the table where Philo is sitting, his face waxy and drawn. The lines of stress and fatigue cutting his features sharply in the meager lighting. 

“Thieves, fuckin’ clawed me.” He grounds out and gives a despairing hiss as his trembling fingers drop the needle onto the tabletop, the meager light reflecting off the steel. The thread between his dry lips flutters down to join the needle on the table as Philo closes his eyes and sucks in a ragged breath. Vignette instinctively grabs up the needle and thread, her dark eyes racing across the man of her heart. 

“I will finish it.” She states and grabs his blood-soaked arm in her cold grip, the painful jolt making Philo jump in the seat and break off a hissing curse. Vignette watches the man’s eyes for a moment, wanting to be certain Philo could make sense of the situation before her deftly plunges the needle into the flesh. Philo arches his back slightly, jaw tense as teeth clench together. Wordlessly the man reaches to the candle holder and brings it in closer, wincing and gasping as Vignette works.

“Madliana’s shop was broken into. She was terrified to go back inside when she discovered the broken lock so I offered.” He begins and nearly pulls his forearm away as Vignette switches out the needle for a rag saturated in spirits. The Fae cleans the swipe mark, the deep furrow bleeding profusely as she works to debride the area. 

“He was still in there. Guess I scared him as I came around the corner.” Philo huffs out heavily, his words stuttering as his body begins to shiver, his narrow shoulders quivering. 

“Why didn’t you go Uorsin? He would have been a better choice to stitch this up than yourself.” Vignette asks, allowing a little annoyance to seep into her voice. She knows the half blood has a heavy aversion to doctors of the human persuasion, but Uorsin had been a talented doctor amongst the Faun community and was always willing to help Philo. Urosin and his daughter Hanne had both received the kindness of the Police Inspector and had been very supportive of the man when they realized he’d passed the barricade to live amongst them. Uorsin was one of the very few outside of Vignette and Tourmaline that knew of his heritage and never said a word of it to anyone, so the woman figures the Faun can be trusted. 

“I tried. That’s who gave me the needle. He and Hanne are very busy, there is some kind of cough overtaking the people.” He breathes heavily, bare chest heaving as his dark eyes are dancing with heat. Vignette worriedly looks the man up and down, her hand darting out to touch his forehead before dropping to cup his cheek. 

“Two more okay? Two more.” She says, trying to sound confident. Philo watches her for a moment before nodding and shifting himself on the hard chair, his wince telling her he’s more injured than just the claw marks on his arm. Wordlessly the Fae picks up the needle and once it’s threaded flicks her eyes once more to the sweaty, shivering man and sets to work on the second claw mark, his clenched jaw growing enough tighter. She works quickly, nimble fingers finishing it off and tying the last stitch before quickly repeating the process with the smallest mark. Even as she stitches, she’s amazed Philo didn’t suffer worse damage, or lose his arm completely. The marks are savage and deep but are tough to stitch but the alternative could be worse. Deftly Vignette finishes the last wound and ties off the thread, her hand moving to touch Philo on the shoulder. The man flinches and takes in a deep breath, his eyes faraway and unseeing as his chest heaves. Vignette removes her hand, this is a common occurrence with the half blood, his own brokenness getting between him and the world before his eyes. She can see the immense sadness and bewilderment in his dark eyes and shakes her head sadly, slowly unwinding the roll of clean bandage that must have also come from Urosin. Gently she places her small hand in his, running her thumb over a thick scar at the base of his thumb. She sits and waits for him, listening to the rain hit the thin paned windows as the storm seems to heighten in intensity. With a long inhale Philo blinks rapidly and comes back to himself, then tension in his body seeming to melt before Vignette’s eyes. 

“Finished?” he asks huskily, his voice low and tired. Philo had been working as best he could to keep the residents, new and old, in a somewhat safe state since the barricades went up. Not a member of the police anymore, there are many residents of the Row who know who he is, how he tried to advocate for their safety and was a respectable person. He had enlisted a few decent Faun and Fae to help him keep the streets safe, the instinct to protect thrumming in every fiber. Vignette knows it’s a hard predisposition to stifle down, her own need to help those around her sent her to the aid of Afissa when she was stumbling around the Row, completely out of her element when she was first shoved behind the barricade. Afissa, who was born here in the Burgue and had lived to serve the prosperous houses. The faun wasn’t prepared to be shuffled into the dingy hovels and trash littered streets of the savage area. Afissa who once treated Vignette with her own brand of kindness—gruff and unfeeling as it was—was grateful for the assistance and more than happy to be placed somewhere fairly safe and warm. 

“You lost blood Philo.” Vignette says as she begins to tie off the bandage, the clean off-white contrasting sharply with the former inspector’s pale forearm. The blood on the table is thick and congealing in pools, Vignette stands quickly and gathers up the bloody towels Philo had used to stem the bleeding. Her quick hands have all the items shuffled away as Philo works on keeping himself steady enough to stand, his body telling him he’s in no shape to move. 

“You need to get warm Philo, I can see you shivering.” She orders lightly as the man makes an unsteady movement forward only to stop and grip the back of the chair. Philo breathes heavily though his nose as he wills his stomach to stop summersaulting, he knows Vignette is right as he can feel the chill seeping into his aching body. He blinks a few times and swallows down the bile threatening to come up and finally manages to make a few unsteady steps. Vignette bustles around in the kitchen, her movements choppy with frustration at the whole situation. They were almost gone. They were almost together. They’d almost made it. The tears burn in her eyes and she wipes at them furiously, the dried blood on her hands cracking. 

“I’m going to start a fire.” Philo says quietly from the doorway to the kitchen, his drawn face watching her anxiously as she works to clear the blood from the table with his ruined shirt. There was no saving the item anyway, so might as well use it instead of dirtying another item for the task. 

“What’s the matter?” he asks, his sad question coming out loud in the small space. He can see the tension in the Fae’s posture and the emotion in her less than agile movements. He waits patiently, eyes watching the fae woman as she thrums with unreleased frustration and anger, her dark eyes darting around for something, anything to busy herself with. Exhaustion pulls at him, his wounds ache and his arm burning with anger but he stays rooted to the spot, not wanting to leave in case Vignette needs him. The Fae is soaked to the bone, her clothing sticking to her narrow frame as his blood slowly dyes the long sleeve cuffs. She’s pale and holding back tears, the angry blinking and abrupt swipe across her eyes revealing the extent of her emotions. Slowly Philo moves from the door and to her body, pulling her close to his chest. Vignette fights him briefly, her fierce nature chasing the need to be comforted in a vicious circle. She fights him, slamming the heels of her palms into his ribs and back with a scream of absolute rage. Philo takes the abuse, grunting softly when one hand strikes a tender spot on his side but doesn’t pull back. He simply stands and slowly lets his arms fall around the slight woman, his breathing calm as his legs give a threatening wobble of weakness. 

“We were almost there Philo. What did we do? Why did they stop us?” she sobs, burying her head into his collar as the sobs wrack the small frame, her wet hair plastering to his chest. He’s at a loss for words and knows there is nothing he can say to ease her distress, so he doesn’t say anything. Just holds on and refuses to let go, no matter how sharp her elbows and fists are.  
\--  
The fire in the small stove crackles merrily as it chews away at the dry sticks Philo feeds it, the bright orange flames and deep red embers casting the small room with jumping shadows. Vignette is curled up in the high-backed chair they’d found beneath a mountain of clothing, a thick woolen blanket wrapped around her narrow frame. Philo had put on dry clothing, the dark sweater hugs his narrow frame as he set about feeding the stove, his feet bare against the rough-hewn floor. 

“What are we going to do Philo?” Vignette asks softly, her eyes tracking the half-bloods movements as he moves stiffly around the small room, gathering up various pieces of wood to feed the stove. He’s quiet for a long time, eyes hooded and dark but there is an easiness to his movements that tells the fae he’s working on an answer. 

“We will survive.” He finally answers, voice soft and head hanging. “We will survive until we find a way to get everyone out. You, Me, Tourmaline. We are all leaving this place. But until then… we have to survive.” He finishes and stands, his joints popping as he moves. With a grace so uncommon to the human side of him Philo kneels before Vignette and fishes her small hands from the blanket and holds them, thumbs rubbing over her knuckles. 

“Have hope Vignette. Have hope.” He whispers and leans in, planting his lips to her forehead.  
End.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't beta. I do go through the work and pick out what I can find, but all mistakes are mine.   
> Also, sorry about the spacing. still learning how this particular system works.


End file.
